A Stitch in Time
by xSilentSakurax
Summary: Robert Baratheon dies at the Trident. The Targaryens win the war and everything changes. There are too many character POVs to list any in particular.
1. Catelyn

A/N: I don't own Game of Thrones, and I certainly don't own A Song of Ice and Fire. They are the property of their creators. I'm only playing around with the characters.

**284AC**

Family. Duty. Honor.

Catelyn Stark repeated the words in her head as though they would somehow tell her how to respond, how to greet a husband who she hated with the decorum her station demanded. He was looking at her with solemn grey eyes. They didn't show remorse for the state he had left her in after his last visit to Winterfell, they simply looked at her with a grave sort of acknowledgement. I'm your wife, she wanted to scream, the mother of your son.

"I am glad to see you are well, my lord." Catelyn said stiffly, the courtesy containing an edge that she hadn't been able to smooth over.

It was now that his eyes began to soften, making his face seem less hard. If he smiled, would he look like Brandon? She had never seen him smile, and now she supposed she never would. "May I see them? Robb," Eddard hesitated briefly, "and Jon?"

Family.

Eddard was always going to be the father of her son, the boy she loved more than anything in the world. She would always be grateful for that fact, even if she would never forgive him for forcing his bastard on her.

"It is your keep, my lord." She left it at that.

As they walked in the direction of the nursery, Catelyn studied his profile from the corner of her eye. It had been a year since she saw him last. He seemed older, as if he had been fighting for a decade. Grief could do that to a person, she knew—she still hadn't come to terms with her father's death, with her uncle's death, with Brandon's death. The thought that Lysa was caring for their little brother all alone made her heart ache; Edmure was a boy of twelve, and yet he was already Lord of Riverrun.

Robb's happy squeal greeted them as they entered the room. He was sitting up in his bassinet with his chubby toddler arms waving in her direction. His red hair was messy from sleep, but his blue eyes were alert when he looked at her. Robb was an utterly happy child, content to sit and stare at his mother for hours on end. In some of the darker moments, she had shamefully relished in the fact that he loved her more than he loved his father.

"Milady, milord." Robb's nurse, an aging lady that had traveled with her from Riverrun said as she climbed to her feet. An abandoned piece of embroidery lay at her side, and Catelyn could make out the gnarled roots of a tree.

Eddard nodded to the woman before moving to his son's side with a look approaching amazement on his face. The last time he had seen Robb was when the boy was two days old. He'd been wrinkly and red and had cried the moment Eddard took him from Catelyn's arms. Now, though, Robb was content to pull on his father's beard and babble utter nonsense at him. In that moment, seeing her husband and son so happy together, Catelyn was willing to move past everything that had happened. She was willing to be a good wife.

Duty.

Duty was something she understood. She had done her duty after Brandon's death; she had married his brother so that the alliance between their houses would remain strong. She had even come to think that she could love him; with his arms around her that first night, she had believed it with all her heart. He was strange and solemn, the opposite of his laughing and sunny brother, but she had thought they would be happy together, eventually.

"Where's Jon?" Eddard said curiously, breaking all her illusions and bringing her firmly back to the resentment she had felt ever since he had returned with Lyanna's corpse and the boy.

Honor.

He had blacked her honor. He had fucked another woman while she was pregnant with his heir. It would have been fine if he had kept it secret, the horrors of war often drove a man towards a whore's soft touch. Eddard hadn't kept his infidelity a secret. Instead, he returned with a two month old infant that looked more like a Stark than her own son. He'd expected her to raise him alongside Robb; he'd expected her to love his _bastard_. The next week he'd rode off again, leaving her with shame and tattered dreams.

"He's where he belongs. You honestly didn't expect him to be _here_, did you?" Catelyn said, taking a vicious pleasure in the way Eddard's happiness seemed to fade. "A bastard has no place among our trueborn children." She stalked across the room and gently took Robb into her arms, "I'm sure Maester Luwin will show you the way."

She didn't see Eddard again until he was crawling into their bed that night. They said nothing at first, and he didn't try to take his marital rights by force. For that she was grateful; Eddard Stark was honorable to a fault, that hadn't changed.

"I'll be leaving for the wall tomorrow." His voice was grave, just as everything about him was grave.

"Who will lead Winterfell if you are gone? Who will lead the North?"

"Robb."

"Robb is an infant," she said coolly, "The Targaryens can't expect that he would be able to run a keep at one year old, can they?"

"You will be protector of the North until he comes of age, Cat. The king has been rather fair; only I will be punished."

Catelyn's eyes narrowed, only two people had ever called her Cat; one was her father and the other was Brandon. "You bent the knee? I thought you would rather die than allow Rhaegar Targaryen to rule after what he did."

"I know better than to drag my family and my people into further tragedy. That is all it would be; the North no longer has allies-it would be a slaughter. If Jon and I had gotten to Stannis in time, things might have been different."

She said nothing for there was nothing to say; she would not lie to him, she would not cry and demand that he stay, but he had been good to her for the most part, and so she would do him a kindness. "I will make sure the bastard is treated well." It was the best she could do. He seemed to know that because she felt a light brush of fingers across her upper arm in thanks.

The next day was cold and thick snow fell in swirling masses. Winter had taken a firm hold on Westeros and it would only get colder as her husband rode north. Would he still be her husband once he had taken the black? She didn't know, perhaps she would become a widow twice over—first to death and then again to duty. As he rode into the harsh wind beside his brother, she felt herself begin to cry.

She cried for Robb, for the relationship that would never blossom between her son and his father. She cried for her father and her first love, but most of all she cried for the uncertain future that awaited her and Robb. She was a foreigner here, a soft southern lady with a son who looked like a Tully; in front of these people, her people, she could not show weakness. She had to be strong, she had to become a part of the North, and so she wiped away her tears and turned her back on the man she would never truly know.

"Maester Luwin, I would like to see record of our current finances. I would also like to know the state of our supplies. Winter is far from over and I want to make sure that none of my people starve."


	2. Elia

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones, and I certainly don't own A Song of Ice and Fire. They are the property of their creators. I'm only playing around with the characters.

**285AC [approximately one month after the events of chapter one] **

"The tower is almost recognizable again." Ashara Dayne said quietly as they passed the skeletal structure.

Elia agreed with her, a faint outline of what had once been the Tower of the Hand now rose from the rubble. The past year had been a flurry of activity in the capitol, and it had fallen to her to oversee the repairs to the Red Keep. "I'm glad it was destroyed," she admitted, "I could never have stepped foot in in that tower again after-" After her goodfather had taken a bath in wildfire, after she had awoken to his screams and her daughter's wide purple eyes. _He thought he could become a dragon_, she remembered. It would always be one of her worst regrets that she hadn't taken his words seriously.

Ashara said nothing, but she nodded—sometimes words were not needed between close friends. She had her son Arthur at her hip; he seemed content to bury his face in her dark hair and sleep. It was a stark contrast to her own son who walked along beside them, pointing at everything that caught his attention. "Mama, what's Ser Barristan doing?" Aegon's dark purple eyes, eyes so like his father's, stared up at her curiously.

Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was in the process of crossing swords with Jaime Lannister. The boy was doing admirably, but she knew that he would ultimately lose. What she didn't know was why they were doing such a thing when they should have been guarding her husband. "Sparing," she said, shooting her female companion a significant look, "Aegon, I want you to stay with Ashara."

Her son pouted but stayed where he was as she approached the two knights. "Sers," she began politely, "Where is my husband? Surely you would not wander so far from your King."

Ser Barristan had the grace to look embarrassed, Lannister simply smirked and sheathed his sword with a bow that boarded on mockery. "Your husband wished to meet with the Tyrells alone, your grace. We were told to look after Prince Viserys." Ser Barristan said.

"I wanted to see how real knights fought." Viserys said, drawing her attention to the shadowy steps leading to the Red Keep. Her goodbrother was ten years old and fascinated with the tales spun about his older brother; it made sense that he would have made such a request of Rhaegar's guard.

"I thought the Maester was educating you about Dorne."

Viserys frowned, "I already learned those things from you, goodsister. Why should I spend my time learning things I already know?"

"I believe that Rhaegar wanted you to make a good first impression. My brother isn't known for welcoming strangers."

_Especially after Harrenhal_, she thought with a touch of regret. In the aftermath of the tournament she had found comfort in Oberyn, she had told him everything, had cried for the first time in years on his shoulder. Now she was struggling to hold her family together in the aftermath of a war started by a man's lust, started by her husband's strange infatuation with Lyanna Stark. Oberyn hated Rhaegar and anyone related to him, with the exception of her own children. For the hundredth time since Rhaegar had informed her, she found herself questioning the wisdom in fostering Viserys in Dorne. She would simply have to trust that Doran would look after him. _Viserys is not Rhaegar, Doran will understand that._

As she worked to convince Viserys that he would do well to return to his studies, she noticed Ser Barristan watching Ashara. She recognized that look; it was the same expression her husband had worn when he had followed Lyanna Stark with his eyes. It was the look of a man who wanted something he could never have.

"Ser Barristan," she said with a kind smile, "Would you mind escorting my son and Lady Ashara to their chambers?"

She answered the small smile on his face with one of her own. The Starks had caused such destruction to those she loved, perhaps the Lord Commander's words could sooth Ashara in a way hers could not.

"Of course, your grace. I would be honored."

Elia knew she was a ghost of the woman she had once been, the birthing sickness had taken away the ability to ride a horse and wield a spear alongside her brother. What it hadn't taken away was her mind, and if she wanted her family to be happy, if she wanted the realm to be united, she needed to be the perfect Queen. She needed to make the world believe that she and Rhaegar were a united front.

"Take me to my husband, ser."

"He did say he didn't want to be disturbed." Lannister's voice was nonchalant, as if he didn't really care either way.

"I'm sure he will not mind my presence."

"Then follow me, your grace."

They walked in silence until they reached the door leading to the council chambers. It was here that she found a bench on which to sit and wait. It wouldn't do for her to interrupt an important meeting, to disgrace herself, to make her husband look weak. However, she _would_ be the first to speak with him, and he _would _take her council on whatever it was that he was planning. It was one of the promises he had made on their wedding night; he had told her that they would always talk together as equals, and after meeting his parents, she understood why.

When the door opened a few hours later, she was mildly surprised to witness the exit of not only the Tyrells but the Storm Lords as well. They bowed their heads in respect as they passed her, some of them offering compliments on how much better she looked. Aegon's birth had been hard, and she'd spent years recovering. It was only the year before, on Aegon's third nameday, that she had been able to resume her normal duties.

"Husband," she said by way of greeting as Rhaegar appeared.

He smiled at her, his sad smile that had always made her heart ache for him. "Would you take a walk with me, Elia?"

"I would rather return to our chambers. We have important matters to discuss, do we not?"

Rhaegar stared at her for a long time before he nodded. She rose from the bench and took his arm, as was appropriate for the King and Queen. He was trying, a part of her understood that. He was trying to make it up to her, trying to establish a friendship between them that had never really existed in the first place. She had stood by him as he grieved for his parents, as he grieved for Lyanna Stark. She had done so because a part of her loved him, loved him because her children loved him. _And because he always seemed to hold the world on his shoulders_, she admitted to herself. She had wanted to relieve some of that burden, had wanted to walk beside him as she had promised before the Seven.

Once they were inside their chambers, Rhaegar motioned towards two chairs sitting before a newly stoked fire. The fires were always burning during the years of winter. "I have decided on a course of action regarding the Vale and the Stormlands," he said once they were seated. "The Lord of the Vale died without an heir, and Renly Baratheon is but a child."

"And what did you decide?"

"I have brokered an agreement between the Storm Lords and the Tyrells. Renly Baratheon will become Lord of Storm's End, but Leo Tyrell will be its Lord Protector until the boy comes of age."

"The Storm Lords agreed to this?"

"Tyrell wishes to become a Maester once the boy reaches the age of majority. There is next to no chance of him usurping Renly's position."

Elia raised an eyebrow, "And they are no position to refuse you. They will rely on the Crownlands to supply them with enough food to last through the end of winter."

"There is that," he agreed.

"What are you to do about the Vale? There are many who can trace their names back to the original rulers, however will you choose which contender to support?"

"I have already told you of my intentions to legitimize Ashara's son."

She nodded with a gentle smile on her face, she could still remember Ashara's joy at the news. It had been the first smile Elia had seen her give since the news of her brother's death reached the capitol. "It was very kind of you, Rhaegar."

"I plan to install him as Lord of the Vale. He will, of course, marry one of Alys and Elys Waynwood's daughters. His children will be true inheritors of the Vale, and no one will be able to deny it."

Elia knew he did this for Arthur Dayne, for the man that had been his friend since childhood. "He would be grateful."

Rhaegar lifted his sorrowful eyes to hers, "I can only hope to atone for what I have done."

"Mother!"

Both adults turned their attention to the dark haired girl that had barged her way into the room. "What is it, Rhaenys?" Elia had always marveled over the similarities between herself and her daughter. It was as though she was looking through time to her youth, except for the light purple eyes.

In reply, their seven year old daughter held up a piece of embroidery. It was the first she had ever successfully completed. A messily stitched dragon roared at them from a handkerchief of black fabric. "I made it for you, father."

Rhaegar smiled and knelt down before her, "Are you giving me your favor?"

Rhaenys nodded solemnly before tucking the cloth into her father's ceremonial armor. Elia gave her them both a fond look before she swept from the room, leaving the two of them alone; she knew that it would likely turn into a game of some sorts and didn't want to disturb them.

"Your grace," Maester Rondal said as he approached her.

"Do you need something, Maester?"

"Lord Tywin Lannister requests an audience, your grace."

"Rhaegar is busy at present."

"No, your grace, he requested an audience with _you_."

A/N:

Thank you for the reviews! I honestly hadn't expected any this early in the story. :)


	3. Ned

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones, and I certainly don't own A Song of Ice and Fire. They are the property of their creators. I'm only playing around with the characters.

**285AC**

Weeks of grueling travel and four days of evaluation had led to this. He was crouched beside Benjen before an ancient heart tree; its face stared at them with eerie crimson eyes. One could only guess at how old it was, Starks hadn't lived beyond the wall in generations.

"Seems they're throwing us to the rangers as soon as they can. The others we came in with are still going through some sort of basic training."

Ned turned a blank stare to his younger brother, "We are far too qualified to be held up in a training yard. The Night's Watch has need of us beyond the wall."

"I heard their Maester is a Targaryen, some relation of dear old Aerys. Are you sure this isn't some elaborate plot to kill us off? No one would suspect a thing, and the only one that could possibly seek revenge is your infant son." Benjen's voice held a touch of mocking bitterness, and, not for the first time, Ned was forced to consider that his brother might have a death wish.

"It has likely been some time since they recruited a knight, even longer since they recruited a Lord. You cannot hope to tell me that your swordsmanship is on the same level as our traveling companions."

Further conversation was prevented as the light of a returning lantern pierced through the falling snow. "It is time to make your vows. From this point on you will be men of the Night's Watch, not highborn Lords in your warm keep. Nothing from your previous life matters. You will fight and die beside your brothers the same as any man."

Everything else faded away as Ned closed his eyes and began to speak to the old gods. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife-"

There was a pause here, as the vow conflicted with one he had made before the seven nearly two years previous. Did a vow he had made to gods that were not his own matter more than one he made before those that were? He settled the inner turmoil by reminding himself that what he did he did for his family, for the wife that despised him and the son he already loved. There was honor in that.

"—hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life an honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

As his words trailed to nothing, he could feel their stares. A glance at Benjen revealed something unreadable in his expression, the fact that Benjen had finished long before he had told him that the younger Stark felt no regret in his decision. Did he even realize what he was giving up?

The older man that had accompanied them cleared his throat and motioned back towards the safety of Castle Black. "It's starting to look like a real bleak night, lads. We best be on our way; you don't want to be caught out here after sundown, at least not before you've got a few months of experience under your belt."

His first day as a ranger was proving uneventful as best. So far, it had consisted of forcing his body through its morning exercises despite the dreadful chill in the air, a chill that even his time in the North had not prepared him for. It was a cold that settled deep in his bones and never faded, not even when he sat as close as he could to his fireplace. Now he was seated beside Benjen in the mess hall, attempting to force down a meal that was trying to pass itself off as porridge.

"Not the finery you're used to, is it? It'll keep meat on your bones, and that's what you'll come to appreciate after a while, once you've been beyond the Wall and left your pampered, lordling life behind." The man who had spoken appeared a few years older than Ned himself, thin and long legged. His long brown hair was tied back away from his face, exposing a good-natured smile.

"Who are you?" Benjen's voice held all the slighted pride of a young man who had not yet reached adulthood.

"Mance Rayder. I'll be the senior ranger in charge of you lot." The smile dropped from his face and his eyes became serious, belying the laughter lines at the corners of his mouth. "I'll be the one that makes sure you don't die out there."

In truth, Mance Rayder reminded Ned of his brother Brandon, of his friend Robert. They seemed to have the same attitude when approaching life. It was something that he could appreciate.

"Will we be going beyond the Wall?" Ned's voice was low and serious. Children of the North grew up on tales of what once stalked the lands beyond the Wall, what might still lay undetected there.

"Aye, we'll be investigating the disappearance of one of our rangers. It's suspected that a group of wildlings captured him, but nothing's certain. He could have up and deserted for all we know."

"If he broke his vows, then he must be brought to justice."

Mance peered at him with a sardonic expression, "Yes, for oathbreakers are a rarity here at the Wall."

Ned merely observed him with a grim sort of patience. All the brothers of the Night's Watch knew why he had been sent to the Wall. He'd broken his oath the Aerys, turned traitor to the realm, but he'd done it for honorable reasons and he wasn't about to make excuses for his actions.

"When do we leave?" Benjen said, his expression was irritable. The words that had been subtly directed towards Ned had bothered him.

"Tomorrow morning, so you ladies better be packed and ready."

The sunlight reflected off the ice and snow as the trio exited the gate that next morning; a stark contrast to the constant snow and sleet of the previous weeks.

"We'll start at where he should have checked in. Then we'll go and see if Craster knows anything." Mance said as he guided his horse around a sharp spire of ice.

"Craster?" Benjen said, "Who is that?"

"You'll see."


	4. Catelyn II

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones, and I certainly don't own A Song of Ice and Fire. They are the property of their creators. I'm only playing around with the characters.

**285AC**

It hadn't taken long for the Lords of the North to come calling. They came with their condolences, they came with their words of praise for her beautiful, healthy son, but more importantly, they came with their marriage proposals. After all, a soft Southerner couldn't hope to run Winterfell, couldn't hope to make sure her son grew into a fine Lord of the North all on her own. That wasn't even taking into account that she was female.

_They respected me when I was Catelyn Stark, wife of Lord Eddard Stark, but they do not respect me now that I am Catelyn Stark, Protector of the North_, she thought with more than a touch of irritation. She had done little to earn their respect in the beginning, she could admit that. Her pregnancy had been a difficult one, stress and grief complicating things, but she hadn't made much of an effort the year afterward. Instead, she had taken comfort in simply being Robb's mother; she'd left the running of her home to her husband's steward. However, in the weeks since her husband had ridden North, she had taken control of the household. They now had enough supplies to last them several months, even if the supplies weren't of the finest quality. These supplies would only continue to grow if she had her way, if the Lords she had written to responded favorably.

The sound of flesh striking wood echoed through her chambers, distracting her from her perusal of Lord Umber's proposition.

"Come in," she said when there came no further knocking. Catelyn slowly stood, stretching out the uncomfortable kinks that came with sitting still for too long. After letting out a soft sigh of appreciation, she came to stand before the door, waiting expectantly as the speaker made his way inside the room.

"A raven has come from Lord Karstark, milady." The boy who had spoken couldn't have been more than thirteen. He was black haired and coltish, a growing beard spotting his round face. His eyes never deviated far from the floor, as if he were afraid of rising her ire.

She held out her hand, doing her best to soften her expression. Brandon had once told her that her eyes burned like the hottest fire when she was angry. Lysa had always told her that her face became as pinched as their nurse's. Catelyn supposed the combination could be rather frightening, especially if it came from their Lady of Winterfell.

"You may go," she said. The dismissal had barely left her lips before the boy was rushing back out the way he had come.

She shook her head and crossed back to her desk. Lord Karstark had enjoyed a bountiful harvest before winter set in, and she knew that his lands were not found to be as devastated during the rebellion as the Stark's holdings had been. Therefore, she had written to him asking for whatever food he could spare. She had done the same to Lord Umber, but the man had included a stipulation that she marry him. They all wanted to rule the North, she knew that. They wanted to establish themselves while her son was still an infant, so that when he became a man grown they would be able to steal his lands out from under him. They loved her husband, but they did not love her. She had heard the whispers amongst visitors to Winterfell that Robb was not truly Eddard's son, that he was a bastard she'd conceived while her husband was fighting in the war.

Robb looked nothing like her second husband; his looks were that of a Tully. It had pleased her at first, that he looked so much like she did. She hadn't felt so alone then, as she had when she'd first arrived in this frozen land. She could see Brandon in him when he smiled, and she could see Lyanna when he was angry. Perhaps in time Eddard would appear as well.

As she read through his letter, she couldn't help but sign in relief. Lord Karstark would send his surplus, and the only thing he asked for was that his third son be allowed to foster at Winterfell. She immediately put quill to parchment to write her reply, making sure to accept his wishes. The letter was short and to the point, and the words were not as extravagant as she could have made them. They needed to see that she was more than a woman.

When she was satisfied with her response, she began to make her way to the tower that housed the ravens. Once she had entered the hallway connecting the kitchens to the Maester's tower, she was startled to see the woman that had been given the responsibility of caring for Eddard's bastard. The woman's blond hair hung about a sallow face and sunken eyes. The bags underneath those eyes said that the woman had been missing sleep for quite a while.

"Milady!" The woman's voice was a mixture of hope and apprehension.

It was then that Catelyn noticed the woman was carrying Jon Snow. The boy looked terrible, far too thin for a child his age. She might have despised what the boy represented, but she had promised Eddard that she would look after his wellbeing.

"I gave you the responsibility of looking after him." Catelyn said, her voice icy.

"The boy won't eat, milady. He's not sick, far as we can tell."

Catelyn frowned before gesturing between the boy and herself. "I'll take him to Maester Luwin. I was heading that way, so it would be no trouble." The servant seemed relieved to hand the boy over to her mistress. "You will take more care with the boy from now on," Catelyn added once the bastard was in her arms, "It could very well mean your job if I found him in this state again."

Her Tully blue eyes watched as the mousy woman scurried back to the kitchens. In her arms, the bastard seemed content to stare at her. The fact that this boy seemed the very picture of her husband made her eyes narrow into a glare. Jon Snow was everything the northern lords wished that Robb was. It was her sense of duty that kept her from tossing him to the floor. After all, she had promised Eddard.

"Don't look at me," she said, as if the boy could understand her.

Instead of making the bastard upset, as she had suspected the harsh tone would, her words seemed to endear her to the boy. He snuggled closer to her body and went to sleep. The affection was disquieting, and she was very glad to be nearing the maester's chambers.

Maester Luwin exited his turret as soon as she knocked. He was a small man, shorter than she was, with kind grey eyes. Those grey eyes widened in surprise when he caught sight of Jon Snow.

"The boy requires your attentions, maester." She said stiffly, holding the boy out as if he were diseased.

When she was sure he had taken hold of the child, she pulled out her letter. "I wish this to be sent to Lord Karstark as soon as possible."

"Do you wish to stay and hear the diagnosis?"

"No."

With that she turned and hurried back the way she had come. It was cowardly, she knew that, but she couldn't stand to look into the boy's grey eyes any longer, she couldn't stand to see her second husband's eyes staring back at her.

Later, she took comfort in Robb's warm little body, holding him tightly and telling him that she loved him. He had begun to speak a few days previous, little words that she stored away like treasures.


	5. Elia II

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones, and I certainly don't own A Song of Ice and Fire. They are the property of their creators. I'm only playing around with the characters.

**285AC**

The walk to the throne room was full of silent contemplation. Elia wasn't sure what Tywin Lannister was planning, but it didn't bode well for her husband that he had specifically asked for an audience with _her_. All of Westeros knew how Rhaegar had shamed her, so it would stand to reason that those who wanted to do him harm would attempt to do so through her. The politically minded, at least.

"Did he say what he wanted?" Elia said. She didn't expect him to have stated his intentions so openly, but Maester Rondal had been in the capitol even before Tywin himself. The old man had been of an age with her goodfather, though he bore it well. The laugh lines around the corners of his mouth told a story of a life well lived, and his light blue eyes shown with the knowledge he had gained over forty years in the capitol.

"I suspect he wants a profitable marriage for his daughter, your grace." Rondal said, "The girl must have been brought all the way from Casterly Rock for a reason."

Elia nodded thoughtfully, "Now that the Targaryen rule is stable, he would want to bind his family to the crown. He once tried to get my goodfather to join Rhaegar to Cersei Lannister, if I remember correctly."

The resulting rejection had been quite the scandal, especially when Elia had found herself as queen-to-be. Elia's mother had been fond of Joanna Lannister, and it was a pity that their families had become so estranged after her death.

When they had reached their destination. Elia dismissed her companion and crossed the room to sit on the iron throne. Though this was to be a private audience, she wanted no doubts as to who commanded respect. She hadn't been seated long before he strode into the room. _He must have been waiting nearby_, she mused with a touch of amusement.

Tywin Lannister was an impressive sight. He had worn his decorative armor, a show of wealth and prestige designed to impress. It glittered golden in the evening sun, rubies shining from the eyes of twin lions on the breastplate. He had shaved his head, no doubt hiding hair in the process of thinning. The lack of hair only seemed to bring out his sharp green eyes, eyes that were staring at her in a way that reminded her of a predator.

"You wished for an audience, Lord Lannister?"

He bowed before her in a calculated show of respect, "I have a proposition that will benefit both of our houses, your grace."

She motioned for him to continue.

"My daughter, Cersei, has long since reached marriageable age, your grace. My lands remain untouched by war, she would bring with her a substantial dowry." Tywin said.

Elia's eyes narrowed slightly. "My husband has many lords to thank for their part in the war, my lord." What she left unsaid as the fact that Tywin Lannister had played no part in their victory.

"The Stormlands do much of their trade through Lannisport. I imagine they were quite devastated when the port closed due to the Usurper's rebellion." Tywin said, reminding her that he had not joined Robert's side either, reminding her that the war might have gone another way if he had.

"Do you wish for me to arrange a suitable match for your daughter?" She said after a few moments of silence.

Her change in subject cause Tywin to raise an eyebrow, but he did not comment. "Viserys Targaryen remains unwed, does he not?"

"He is a child, my lord."

"A betrothal then, until the boy comes of age."

Elia shook her head. "Viserys is already betrothed to my niece in Dorne. He will be fostered by my brother until they are old enough to wed." She tried to soften her expression with an apologetic smile, "I am sure you will have no trouble finding your daughter an appropriate match; she seems quite the beautiful young lady."

"As you say, your grace. May I take my leave?" Tywin Lannister's courtesy was so cold it stung. As soon as she gave her consent, he performed another bow, this one short and stiff, before turning on his heel and exiting the room.

She stared at the largest dragon skull adorning the wall for a long moment, examining the sharp teeth that still shone centuries after their owner had died. Elia didn't notice she had company until she heard her husband's calm voice.

"Viserys is angry with me."

She turned to look at him, taking in the sad expression in his beautiful eyes. "Why?"

"He is leaving for Dorne tomorrow, and he does not want to go." Rhaegar's voice trailed to nothing as he walked to her side, "He blames me for our mother's death as well, I think. This has reopened old wounds."

Elia rose to stand beside him, resting her hand lightly on his arm, "He is a child, do you honestly expect him to understand why you are sending him away?"

"I suppose not." He glanced down at her hand before looking back into her eyes, "Tywin Lannister wanted something from you." It was a statement, and she noticed that he did not include himself.

"He wished to marry his daughter to Viserys," she said quietly, "I told him such a thing was impossible."

"He will be angry for a long while. Perhaps it would be best to keep an eye on the Westerlands for the foreseeable future."

She nodded, "I think that would be wise."

They shared a moment of compatible silence before her husband offered her his arm. "Would you take that walk in the gardens with me now, my queen?"

Once they had reached a secluded area, Rhaegar settled them both on one of the ornate stone benches. "I have decided that you deserve to know something, Elia." Rhaegar seemed to hesitate, "You deserve to know why I crowned Lyanna Stark as the Queen of Love and Beauty at Harrenhal."

Elia stiffened, "She was a beautiful woman. What more is there to know?"

"Do you remember the Knight of the Laughing Tree?"

She thought back to that day, years ago, "Yes, I do remember him. He was the knight who wore armor that looked as if it had been thrown together at the last moment. He also disappeared before the finals, forfeiting his position."

"Yes, and no." Rhaegar said. "Lyanna was that knight, and she rode in the lists to avenge some slight a crannogman suffered. She won her spot in the final joust and had to give it up because I made a foolish mistake, giving her the crown seemed the only way I could right such a wrong."

Elia observed him with a cool scrutiny. "You chased that woman for months, eventually spiriting her away from her own family. Rhaegar, you cannot excuse all of your behavior as soothing Lyanna Stark's honor."

Her husband's eyes only seemed to grow sadder, "I did a terrible thing to you, Elia. I will never understand how you managed to survive such dishonor." His gaze dropped to his hands, "One day you will know why I did what I did. Until then, I promise I will spend my life trying to make our marriage a happy one."

She let out a low sigh, "I will likely never forgive you, Rhaegar, but I am willing to put the past behind me for the sake of our children." Her dark eyes regarded him with something she hadn't shown in years, passion. "I will be your wife in truth tonight. The king and queen should share a bed chamber, should they not?" She didn't want to admit that she had missed his touch, but, as she watched his eyes light up, she thought that perhaps he had missed the intimacy as well.

**/smut warning/**

That night, as she watched her husband step closer to the bed as naked as his nameday, Elia found herself doubting her resolve. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time, but the heat of the moment had passed and she felt as nervous as she had on her wedding day.

To distract herself from her misgivings, she studied his body. It was not as flawless as it had been the last time they'd had sex in this bed, and she found herself reacting to the new scars littering his abdomen. They made him look like a warrior, like the man who had protected her children.

Rhaegar sat on the bed beside her, and Elia began to run her fingers over the mark that stretched from just under his nipple to the middle of his stomach.

"Robert gave me that. At the Trident." He said quietly, his fingers working to unlace her dress.

When the fabric slid from her shoulders, Rhaegar began slowly trailing his mouth from her collarbone to her breasts.

"This time I'll make you feel pleasure, Elia, not pain."

She gasped when she felt him take one of her nipples into his mouth. Her head lolled back at the feeling and she found feel her nails digging into his skin. She could feel him pushing her onto her back, but she didn't care any longer; for once she didn't feel pained by his presence, and she could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks at the feeling.

"Hush," he whispered against skin, "don't think, just feel."

Elia felt evidence of his arousal pressing against her left leg, and, with a mounting desire to return what he was giving her, slipped a hand around his cock. His breaths had become short and labored, hot against her skin, and when he felt her touch he jerked against her. Yet he didn't immediately go for his release. Instead, he took his time with her body, leaving her breasts and pressing feather-light kisses over her stomach.

"Rhaegar," she moaned.

His purple eyes shot to her face, dark with hunger, as he spread her thighs and slid into her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tangled her fingers in his silvery-blond hair, tugging on it sharply as she shivered. Elia could feel him filling up the emptiness he had left all those years ago, washing away the pain she felt with an instant of pure, undeniable pleasure. What emotions he saw in her eyes she didn't know, but she closed them as she peaked, hiding her vulnerability.

Once her tremors had subsided, and Rhaegar had slid free, Elia moved to the far side of the bed. There was a moment's pause before her husband did the same, avoiding the wet spot on the blankets to settle in beside her.


	6. Ned II

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones, and I certainly don't own A Song of Ice and Fire. They are the property of their creators. I'm only playing around with the characters.

A/N: The first few chapters were a build-up to the main storyline. (Which will now commence)

**298AC**

"Why have you come here? Why have you contacted me, after all this time? Have you come to accept your punishment?" Ned said, peering into the tree line.

"So you knew it was me. I shouldn't be surprised; you always were observant, Stark." The man who had spoken slowly melted out of the darkness, the flickering of Ned's torch lighting upon a lacework of new scars.

"Of course I knew it was you, Mance. We were close once." Ned's grey eyes hardened at the remembered betrayal before he added, "You abandoned your vows six years ago, and left your post, your brothers, without a second glance. Why. Are. You. Here."

"I came with a warning," Mance deposited a man's body on the ground between them, "and a favor to ask."

Closer inspection of the corpse told Ned that it belonged to Waymar Royce. The boy had been new to the Wall; it had been barely six months since his recruitment, if he remembered correctly. Royce was only a few years older than Ned's own son, a boy with the traces of youth still about him, and the blank grey eyes reminded him eerily of his own, of Jon's.

"You murder my men? You dare to bring this boy's body to me as a trophy?" Ned said. His hand went to his sword, pulling it free of its sheath in a single movement. "Your time amongst the wildlings must have sent you halfway to insanity, but know this, your treachery ends tonight."

Mance's dark eyes glittered strangely in the firelight as his mouth twisted into a familiar sardonic smile. "I didn't kill the boy, Ned. I found him six days ride north of here. One of his brothers had already turned."

Despite himself, Ned found his sword began dipping toward the ground. "Turned?" There was a reluctant curiosity in his voice that seemed to give his companion a surge of confidence.

"Aye, you'll see in a few minutes." Mance said, eyeing the blade, "I'm not going anywhere, so you might as well put that blasted thing away. It's not as if it would do you any good against what I'm about to show you."

"If you think I'm going to sit around and play host to an oathbreaker, you've lost more of your mind than I thought-"

Further action was prevented as Waymar's body began to twitch and jerk. The boy's eyes slid shut before opening to display an unnerving blue the likes of which Ned had never seen.

"What is that thing?" Ned had heard stories as a child about the horrors that had existed past the realm of man, but he had never believed them to be true.

Mance said nothing, simply stepping around the rising body to stand alongside Ned. The older man then curled his fingers around the torch, pulling it from Ned's grasp and tossing it upon the creature before them. It screamed as it caught fire, a sound that was so alien that Ned found himself clasping his hands over his ears.

"Fire is the only thing that seems to stop them," Mance said once Waymar's body lay still and smoking.

"There are more?"

"Oh yes, thousands by my estimation, and more are turned each day as they march south."

"So you have come to the Night's Watch for aid?" Ned's said slowly.

"No. I came to you for aid, Ned. The Night's Watch has no need for tales of magic and monsters in the darkness; I would be executed as soon as they finished laughing their asses off."

"And what do you expect me to do? I cannot leave my post; I cannot break my vows and ride off into the unknown at your side."

"What do you think the Wall was created to stop? Why do you think the Night's Watch was created? To stop wildlings from entering Westeros? If that was the case, the lord of the north would be responsible for keeping his lands under control." Mance said. He slowly began to pace back and forth, his hands twisting through the air as if in search of one of the instruments he favored. "_Think_, Ned. There's a reason you Starks still tell the tale of the Battle for the Dawn."

"You cannot hope to tell me that another Long Night is coming." Ned said.

"Coming? It's nearly here! How do you think that wight came to be so close to your damn wall?" Mance stopped walking, "You have eight hundred men at the wall, nine hundred if I'm generous about the years since I left; what can you hope to do with nine hundred men when you're faced with hundreds of thousands, when you're faced with a magic that hasn't been seen in eight thousand years?"

Ned faltered, his mind tallying up scenarios in which they could beat the odds. There wasn't a single one he could think of. "We will write to the lords of Westeros, to King Rhaegar."

"Your boy might send a few men, if only to appease his father. You and I both know the others will only scoff at you. The Night's Watch became a dumping ground for criminals and the unwanted long before you and I were even born."

"What do you propose we do? What is your miracle solution?"

"My people know what lurks in the shadows of history. They know what's coming and they want to be safe when it gets here. All we would have to do is convince them that they all want the same thing. Once we do that, the Night's Watch will have its army."

Ned considered his options for several minutes, the silence stretching taunt with expectation. "We will need horses and supplies, wait here," he said at last.

Mance laughed, a laugh so full of relief that it shook his body. "I've got a horse of my own a mile out."

Ned nodded before making his way back through the tunnel. His boots crunched on the thin sheet of ice that always covered the snow, ice that had formed from the weeping of the wall during daylight hours. The brother who opened the gate for him didn't seem interested in knowing where he had been, it was a trust that he had earned with the title of First Ranger. The trust and respect he had gathered over his decade at Castle Black also allowed him to saddle his horse with enough provisions to last a single man a month on the road. He'd made the proper excuses, stating that he was going to investigate the disappearance of Waymar Royce and his companions. He hadn't even told Benjen the true reason, the younger man was on the fast track to becoming the next Lord Commander, and Ned didn't want to spoil that, didn't want to burden his brother with knowledge of an oathbreaker.

Mance was where he'd left him, though it looked as if the older man had made an attempt to bury Royce.

"Why did they send a green recruit like this beyond the wall without an experienced ranger? Boy still had on his lordling clothes."

"Gared accompanied him." Ned said as he began leading the horse after Mance.

"Didn't see any sign of that one; must have managed to escape, that or he up and walked off before I got there."

"Let us hope for the former."

The rest of the walk to Mance's makeshift camp was completed in silence. Mance seemed to be caught up in plans for the future, and Ned didn't feel the need to engage his former friend in conversation. Beyond the fact that they were working together to save mankind, Ned hadn't felt a connection to the man in over half a decade.

"We'll rest here for the rest of the night and ride hard tomorrow. If we're lucky, we can catch the rest of my men at the Fist of the First Men before nightfall." Mance said once Ned has set his tent. "You'll even get to meet my lovely wife."


	7. Robb

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones, and I certainly don't own A Song of Ice and Fire. They are the property of their creators. I'm only playing around with the characters.

**298AC**

The wind was cold on his back, signifying that winter would be upon them soon. Robb could barely remember the last winter he'd experienced; he'd only been seven when it ended. However, he admitted that cold weather and a harsh, whistling wind seemed appropriate for the occasion.

"Cold, so cold. Blue. All dead. Monsters." The man said incoherently, his fingers digging into the many bloody wounds on his face as he came into hearing range.

He didn't try to escape, didn't try to fight the men that marched him to where Robb was standing. From what Robb had gathered, the man had been found unconscious by a hunting party. The tattered black cloak identified him as a man of the Night's Watch, and the wild insanity confirmed for them all that he was a deserter.

"He just keeps repeating those same words over and over again," said Rodrik Cassel, "He's gone completely mad. I would wager he's run here nonstop, all the way from the Wall."

The Master-at-Arms had accompanied them to where Robb would meet out the justice of the North. It had been his duty once, before Robb came of age. Robb's mother hadn't been strong enough to wield Ice, so the duty of swinging the greatsword had fallen to Catelyn Stark's most trusted advisor. Now he was here in place of Robb's father, to counsel the Lord of Winterfell on his first execution.

As the time to read out the man's punishment came, Robb felt his palms begin to sweat. He forced his voice to remain strong as he recited what Ser Rodrik and his mother had told him the night before.

"You stand accused of desertion. You have abandoned your post and your vows. The punishment, as established by the first men and upheld by the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, is death." Robb paused to stare grimly down at the prisoner in his best imitation of Jon Snow, "You may have a moment to pray to whatever Gods you serve, to repent and ask forgiveness."

The man only stared vacantly up at him; he'd stopped tearing at his skin, the thought of imminent death stilling his hands. "Dead. You'll all be dead!"

Robb didn't respond, though he did feel a stirring of pity for the broken creature before him. He kept his eyes trained on the man's face as he fought the desire to block out the sight that was coming. His arms strained to lift Ice, and he put everything he had into the downward swing; he needed to end it in one stroke, to not do so would be cruel beyond measure. Just before the man's head separated from his shoulders, Robb thought he could see relief in the deserter's blue eyes.

"You did well, Robb." Catelyn Stark said as he handed the sword back to Ser Rodrik.

The large man nodded in agreement, but the words of praise rang hollow in Robb's ears. All he could hear was the sound of metal sliding through flesh, and it was all he could do to keep his stomach from rebelling.

"Come, now, Robb." Eddard Karstark said. The older boy had come up beside him and steered them both towards the waiting horses. "Don't you want to see the surprise Jon has waiting for you?"

Edd and Jon had been rather secretive about whatever they had found, telling him that they would show him once he was done being Lord of Winterfell. The anticipation served to distract him from his nausea, and he dug his heels into the mare's side in an effort to reach the keep before his companion.

In only a moment, Edd was alongside him. "Done being Lord of Winterfell, dear Robb?" Edd said, riding just ahead of Robb without difficulty. "You haven't tried to outdo me in horsemanship since your tenth nameday; I would have thought you'd have learned by now-" Edd learned forward as he broke further ahead, calling over his shoulder in a wild shout, "—that I always win!"

The race, if one could call it such, didn't last for long; the hill on which the execution had taken place was a mere two miles from Winterfell. As soon as he had come to a stop inside the courtyard, Robb swung free of the saddle. His horse's sides were heaving and he scratched her forehead affectionately before turning her over to one of the stable boys.

Eddard Karstark was doing the same a short distance away, though his whole posture was radiating smug victory. The four year age difference between the two of them had always made Edd overly competitive, as if he had to prove that his greater age somehow made him superior. Robb merely glowered at him good-naturedly before heading towards Maester Luwin's turret.

Jon had lived with Maester Luwin for as long as Robb could remember, and it would make sense for Jon to hide the surprise in his own quarters. As he walked through the keep, he could see the servants reacting to his presence differently than they had a mere two days previous. They showed him a new respect, a new reverence, now that he had come of age and taken his place as their lord. It was more than they had ever shown his mother, and the expectation that came with the respect was at once frightening and exhilarating.

"Come on, Robb," Jon said from in front of a large oaken door, once Robb had come within earshot.

Robb entered the room and stared incredulously at the sight in front of him. "How did you manage to find direwolves south of the Wall?" he finally said with more than a little awe.

Jon shrugged. "I found them when I was out hunting yesterday, took them with me while the others were occupied with capturing the deserter."

"And you didn't tell me before now? You told Edd first?"

"You were busying putting on the mask of the Lord of Winterfell for the first time; I didn't want to distract you from that." Jon's eyes drifted to the floor before he added, "And I didn't want your mother to hate me more than she already does. Who knows what she'd do if that happened."

Robb, at a loss of anything comforting to say, gestured towards the squirming pups. "Only two? I thought direwolves normally had large litters, the same as common wolves."

"The mother and the rest of the pups were all dead, only these two survived." Jon said, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "I thought they would make appropriate companions for us, since our sigil is the direwolf."

"Have you chosen yours?" Robb had seen the discomfort on Jon's face, likely at the reminder that he was only a bastard, and had decided to change the subject.

"Yes. I've chosen the white one."

Robb was secretly thankful that Job would not object to his taking of the grey pup. The instant he had seen it, Robb had felt a connection. "Grey-wind," he said. He didn't know when he had decided on the wolf's name, but now that he had, it fit perfectly.

"Do you think mother will allow us to keep them?"

"It wouldn't matter what she thinks; you're Lord of Winterfell now." Jon said, smiling as he sat on his bed and stroked the white pup's head.

"Yes, I am Lord of Winterfell now." Robb said, crossing the room to sit beside his brother. "The man I executed today, he was from the Night's Watch. Something scared him so badly that he deserted." He looked down at his hands as Grey-wind crawled into his lap, "I think we should ask father about it, when he comes to Winterfell."

"Father is coming to Winterfell?" Jon said.

"Uncle Benjen wrote to tell mother that they would be stopping here on their way to the capitol, looking for prisoners to recruit."


End file.
